Somehow, I came back to reality. Throat stinging, my clouded voice managed a sound. A sound that returned to my ears silent. I coughed, struggling to shut my burning eyes.
Failure.
Where was I? The flat, icy, wooden surface under my fingertips betrayed my location. School. The dreaded place I’d give anything to escape. Even the warm arms of a person who truly loved me could not erase the coldness inside me, though ‘love’ was unfamiliar to me. I felt like bursting into tears. No, not here.
Just as I was about to let my emotions get the better of me, a shrill clanging met my ears. The deafening chains of solitude immediately lifted from my wings of hope, as I listened to the triumphant sound of the school bell. In attempt to appear invisible, I slunk down the crowded, gray hallways. It was then I saw those welcoming doors laying only yards before my numb, unwilling feet. Hastily I flung my backpack over my lean shoulder, and bolted for the exit. Though the doors soon faded with my next observation.
There he stood, his broad shoulders, searing black eyes, pinched line for lips, towering build, and sandy brown hair. All screaming one thing. I hate you, Olivia. I hate you more than this building. More than my father, who beat the innocent soul out of me. I hate you even more than I hate myself.
"Not now," my hands began to tremble, "please, not now."
"Olivia," he spat, just loud enough for me to recognize, before stalking around dead-looking students to reach the ground on which I stood. I could feel my heart begin to clatter unmercifully against my ribs like a caged animal, begging for freedom. Just when I was sure my chest would burst, his face was merely inches from my wary eyes.
"hey," came his hot breath, curling around my ear, "I heard you had the test answers to the chemistry quiz." This wasn't a question, but a demand. He wanted something, and he was going to get it, both of us were undoubtedly aware.
"And?" I replied sharply, maybe too sharply.
"where did you get them?" he began to lose what little serenity remained in his tone. My lack of quick response promptly triggered his anger. With one swift stroke he sent my backpack crashing to the floor. Study books, pencils, notes, and random useless items split from their opened container, scattering all over the hallway floor. Some students laughed, others remained as empty-looking as before, and still others shrugged and turned back to their conversations. But not a soul even reached to help, not one.
Quickly I scrambled to the ground, retrieving anything within reach. A cool sensation coiled up my neckline, as anger and rage replaced fear and shock. I spun around to face him, a decision I never had the valor to even dream of. But to my relief, he had vanished into the crowd, like a cunning pick pocket steals and recedes.
After composing myself, I brushed a small strand of my brown hair behind my ear. For a brief moment in time, I imagined not my hand moving over my pale cheek, but the hand of a caring young man, who looked deeply into my dark brown eyes, and saw more than what everyone else seemed to see. He saw my spirit. Though he could see it dying, a faint glimmer of passion and courage might've caught his eye. The same sort of light coaxed my sight out of the dream, and back into dreadful reality. The door! I had nearly forgotten. With my newfound strength, I rushed through the exit. The brisk autumn wind pricked my face and flicked my hair into the breeze, but I didn't mind, I was free...
For now. Patiently I resided, waiting for my transportation. Mom was always late, today was no exception. As my other classmates drove away, I sat aimlessly on the curb letting my mind wander far away from the emptying school. If only someone could love me, hold me, and protect me. Through the bustle of cars and nearby conversation, I heard myself chuckle. What a pointless thought, I teased myself, everyone cares only about themselves, end of discussion.
As if to finalize my statement, the familiar purring of my mom's gray BMW pulled reluctantly up beside me. I opened the car door, avoiding her stare, she obviously was upset. Just as I sat down, fixing my eyes on something distant, she slammed the gas with aggravation, sending her ‘baby’ (as she put it) into a fit of squeals down the road.
Her blond hair tangled in the wind that leaked from her window. I caught her bright blue eyes glance my way. I met them with my own brown ones. Memories flooded my mind. I remembered her looking at me the same way a few weeks ago, before stating that I took after my father. She hated that I looked like him. If I didn't know any better, I’d say she hated me.
We glided along in silence, wordlessly informing each other that the empty air was what we desired. But it didn't stay that way for long. I could sense her thoughts rushing. The engine growled louder.
I glanced nervously at the speedometer, reading 82 miles an hour, supposing it quite a leap from the posted speed limit of 60. The little voice inside me was nagging at my tongue to say something, anything. Words seemed to clog my throat. Before I could--
"Oh my gosh!" I could hear a desperate gasp escape my mother's lips to yanking the wheel, sending the car spinning into a waiting ditch.
For a moment everything was still. I could hear the steady beating of my heart as I looked across the car at my mother, or what looked faintly like her. Her face was covered in fresh blood, arms wide-spread, back hunched over the wheel, and jaw appearing slightly misshapen. I tried to sit up, but a sharp, stinging sensation hindered my attempt. My arm lay pinched between the seat and my door. Something had crashed into the side of the car, allowing it to slice into my limb. A warm, red, oozing liquid cascaded from below my elbow, down to my hand. My head began to feel light, as my helpless situation set in. Slowly, I realized blood was not only dripping from my arm, but it was also staining the side of my face. My head began to throb, as I saw my hand return to me, red. The scary part about it, was the sickening feeling of my arm going numb. I remembered learning something about this. Shock it was called. But it felt more like a thousand needles chewing into my limb and numbing it up.
Time was running out for both of us, and we were all alone. Oddly, that scene depicted my feelings perfectly... And you know what? It wasn‘t good.
Ok, so I read the reviews, did a little editing, and think she looks a little better
. Let me know what you think 
~~Rose
Okay, so. This first paragraph has the potential to be fantastically suspenseful. But you've simply overdone it all a bit-- the imagery, the vocabulary choices, the melodramatic air. This, for example:
